At All Costs
by The Sea On The Moon
Summary: Holmes finds himself looking out for a sick Watson through the night, and some of their individual shortcomings must be faced. Warning: Slash, no mature content.
1. Chapter 1

The sitting room offered protection from the chilly rain and snow mix that was descending furiously on London. It was not a day for roaming outside, and yet there was still the clatter of hooves and shouts from the street that indicated that the city still moved, even as the skies darkened with the approach of nightfall.

Within the room, the fire had been stoked to build it up and provide more heat to the immediate vicinity. A coat sat dripping on the floor, hung by the fire to dry it. I had come home a little timid at how he would greet me - or if he'd greet me after our argument the night before. I had left early, not wanting to face him this morning. I had discovered these worries were unfounded though.

After I had come in stiff, soaked, and sore Holmes had promptly ordered me out of my clothing. He had fetched me one of my nightshirts and put me in one of his dressing gowns to be an extra layer of warmth. After he settled me into the chair nearest the fire, he poured me the brandy and stood behind me. At first he had been timid, only gently rubbing with his fingers at my neck. When I offered no protest and instead moved to accommodate his ministrations, he'd also continued to my shoulders. Soon after the shaking had ceased I loosened the dressing gown so he could rub directly on my skin.

The effect was deeply relaxing and at the same time it brought up emotions I could not describe. His kindness and concern was touching, but somehow not unexpected. But at the same time I felt as though I should not expect such behavior from him. How was it fair for him to drop everything to tend to me? I could not deny the pleasure it gave me though, to know that he cared enough to pause in his studies and offer me his attention. The massage was wonderful all on its own, but the time Holmes was taking warmed me more than the fire or the brandy.

"Feeling better?" He whispered, leaning down so he was right next to my right ear.

"Yes, I am almost concerned you found someone to practice your technique on since you're so good." I sent him a smirk as I turned my head to look at him. I smelled the strong scent of his favorite tobacco, familiar and comforting. His hand come over the back of the back of the chair and reached around to my cheek, brushing it ever so gently with his fingertips.

His gray eyes were piercing me as they always did, and in a rush I closed the gap between us. My eyes slid shut as our lips grazed softly. I was suddenly acutely aware of how rough my lips were after the time I had spent cold and wet outdoors. When I shyly tried to pull back, I felt Holmes' hand against the back of my neck. His mouth opened slightly, lightly sucking my bottom lip for a moment which sent a tingling sensation down to my feet. I felt a finger tracing spirals on the back of my neck and I arched my neck back in response to the slight tickling sensation. I would have happily continued, but suddenly Holmes pulled back and held a finger up, silencing my protest. I recognized the look as his indication he had heard something.

I pulled the dressing gown up quickly and grabbed the paper I had been reading. In two long strides Holmes was across the room staring out the window. The distance felt like miles, but it was not long before the reason for our sudden change of position appeared in the form of Mrs. Hudson. She had warmed up a plate of supper for me. Although I appreciated her thoughtfulness, I wanted Holmes near me, not dinner. I sat eating, holding the plate on my lap with one hand, occasionally reaching out to the fire for warmth in between bites.

"You should not have gone out," Holmes said for about the first time since I had returned.

I ignored the remark, not honoring it with yet another explanation of why I had gone out, against his wishes and judgment. This was the same line of conversation that had led to a battle the night before. Holmes might possess one of the wisest and most cunning minds I ever had the privilege to know, but that did not mean I was entirely in agreement with his sentiment. I stretched out my free hand towards the fire again, soaking up as much of the warmth as I could. Then I used it to reach for the glass for brandy sitting on the side table next to me.

Holmes' comment had broken the silence for the first time since Mrs. Hudson had been in the room. He had reclaimed a seat, but was using the settee - the farthest from the roaring fire. I imagined it was rather too warm for his comfort, but when I had advised him he could turn it down he had only needed to send me one look to warn me that he had no intentions of doing anything of the sort.

I yawned, growing suddenly very tired. I set the food down on the side table next to the brandy, getting up slowly. Standing upright proved no problem, however I had been still for far too long and my old wounds prevented my leg from doing what I needed it to when I took a step.

Not for the first time I swore as I threw my hands out to catch myself in my fall. "Watson!" Holmes was up and supporting me in a flash. I ended up with his left arm encircling me from the front while his right hand had grabbed part of the back of the robe to hold onto.

I growled, frustrated with my own lack of mobility. "I'm fine Holmes." I had to be fine. I refused to believe that I wasn't.

"Are you Doctor?" He replied, his tone rather bitter. His emphasis on my title was not lost on me.

"I just need rest -" Another yawn broke through my protest.

His right arm curled around the back of my neck with his hand coming to rest on my brow. "Shall we take bets on your temperature?" He asked.

The reference to my vice brought my temper out even more. Now I had had enough. "Just let me sleep - " This time it was a coughing fit that broke into my sentence unbidden and realized without Holmes' strong arms supporting me I would not be able to stand. The cough left me gasping for air and Holmes twisted ever so delicately to put me into the settee, which was closer.

He quickly passed me a glass which I sipped, trying to get my throat clear. However the coughing had not subsided, and I felt him relieve me of my glass as I pressed a fist against my mouth, trying to stave off the insistent tingle at the back of my throat.

The exhaustion I had felt before seemed to double, and I spent several seconds afterward taking deep, ragged breaths with my eyes closed. I felt him put a hand on my shoulder and I reached for it, clinging tightly.

"Watson I am so sorry - " Holmes' voice sounded scared. It was something unfamiliar to me.

"No, Holmes... You were right," I breathed. "I should not have spoken to you like that."

"What do you need?" Holmes said.

I tried to force my foggy brain to cooperate, but I was finding it difficult not to slip into the beckoning darkness. "Temperature… needs to come down. And rest," I said. As I said it I shivered again violently and another cough interrupted me. This time my chest and bad shoulder felt like someone was stabbing them and I reflexively gripped Holmes' hand tighter.

He knelt in front of me, putting his free hand on my cheek. Only when the coughs dissipated once more did I realize I still had his hand in an iron grip. I released it immediately.

"I'm sorry..." I said. He squeezed my hand gently.

"You owe me no apology," He said, rising and going out of sight for just a moment. He returned a moment later, my thermometer in his hands. It was strange to see the delicate instrument in his long fingers, but I was too tired to even tease him about stealing my job. After several seconds yet he removed it and examined it with a frown.

"How bad?" I said, my throat beginning to make me painfully aware of its own displeasure with the coughing.

"Not too high, one-hundred and one degrees," He replied.

I nodded. "I just need rest." My voice was coming out in barely a whisper.

"You will take my room," Holmes ordered. I thought about climbing the stairs and could think of no reason to argue with him. I knew I was in no condition to make the trek upwards. "Wait a moment while I turn the sheet."

I heard his footsteps retreating into his room for a moment and I waited patiently for his return. When I heard him coming back I finally realized I was going to prove an inconvenience to him.

"Where will you sleep?" I asked, trying to force my eyes to stay open.

"I should think you wouldn't object to me borrowing your bed," Holmes said with a warm smile. "But never mind that, my first concern, my dear Watson, is to you. Can you stand?"

"I think I can manage," I replied, shifting a little to sit up more. One of his strong hands grasped mine and the other slid behind me to help me regain my feet. Once standing, he paused, his eyes fixed on me, waiting for my signal that I was alright. Aside from being dizzy and tired, it was not painful to stand. I timidly shuffled my bad leg forward first, wanting to make sure it would not give out again. Holmes' grip remained tight and unwavering, and I felt sure he'd catch me again without hesitation should I be unable to walk.

The second step was easier, and slowly I managed to make it to the alcove where his door was leading into the sitting room. I've watched him cross the same distance in three great, leaping strides (including using the shortcut of hopping over the settee instead of going around). It was a few more steps from the alcove before I was finally by his bedside.

"Your robe - " I remembered all at once. I moved to pull it down from my shoulders, but he held up a forestalling hand.

"If it is comfortable, leave it," He said.

I had to admit it was. He had rather expensive tastes in clothing that was for his daily use, although I knew the two chests stuffed in the corner behind his bureau were the articles he used as disguise costumes. His favorite items were kept clean and neatly folded or hanging for easy access , but he did not need to show the same care for the disguises, which were usually dirty and threadbare intentionally.

He helped me sit upon the edge of the bed, then gently pulled off the slippers from my feet. His fingers gently started rubbing my left leg where the bullet had pierced nearly four years ago. It had been a very unfortunate shot, made from the hill above me as I bent down in one of the dry ravines to check the carotid pulse of one of our own fallen, and the bullet had broken through my shoulder and stuck in my thigh. At the time, the pain in my shoulder was such that my leg was hardly noticeable. However, I had found upon return to a colder, damper climate as London that the wound could not be soon forgotten.

He had brushed aside the hem of the dressing gown and tenderly massaged the leg, helping to relieve some of the tension. It drew out a sigh of relief from me, and I was too comforted to protest the extra treatment.

Suddenly, a cough seized me again. It was so abrupt I threw out a hand on Holmes' shoulder to help support myself and I felt his hand grab my arm in return. The cough brought tears to my eyes that I could not blink away. After a moment the coughing subsided and I wheezed, trying to catch my breath.

"Let's get you comfortable," Holmes said after my breathing had evened out. "Do you want to be propped up or lay flat?"

"Propped up," I replied, closing my eyes to try to stop the room from spinning. He slowly stood up, and I heard him shuffling the pillows and blankets behind me.

"Here," he said after a moment.

It was hard to focus, but I opened my eyes and realized he was motioning for me to turn back to lay against the pillows he'd stacked to have me at an incline. As I twisted myself to lay back, he put one arm under my legs and gently lifted them, helping me settle into a comfortable position. He put a hand over mine as I laid it on my chest and through half-lidded eyes I saw him give me a comforting half-smile.

"Sleep Watson. I will be here when you wake," Holmes said, drawing up the blankets to my chest. I could do nothing more to fight the urge, and I knew in my head that the rest would do me good.

"You… need rest too," I argued, twisting my wrist to grasp his hand.

"Heal thyself," Holmes whispered, pulling my hand up and brushing a kiss on the back of it.

I soon was deep into slumber, and his gray gaze was the last thing I remembered.

* * *

~TBC~


	2. Chapter 2

I never realized how much I worried for him until I saw him falling as he stood up. The way my heart leaped into my throat and my mind leaped to the worse-case scenario was foreign to my analytical process of deduction. As he slowly fell into a fitful slumber I stayed where I was, bending over him and resting my left hand on his head for a moment before drawing it down around his eye and brushing his cheek with my thumb.

I loved the man. For all my caution in the beginning, the man I had taken lodgings with was so much like an angel. Nearly limitless in his patience with me – which continued to surprise me – and ever-ready to sacrifice himself for other. A doctor or an angel? I never had given myself to thinking about the existence of spiritual beings. After all, there was no proof of them. Though I did pause to consider how deeply held beliefs in a deity could affect the behaviors and thought processes of a quarry. However, this man was the first and only man I could recall not only tolerating me, but actually giving a damn about me.

By the time I left home, I knew I would lead a solitary life. I recall Mycroft having enough recollection of our blood relation to offer to help me crawl up the ladder he was quickly ascending within Her Majesty's offices, but I knew such a life of bowing and scraping would serve neither me nor prove the best use of my talents.

Upon completing numerous studies of things that seemed unrelated to most I begun to make the knowledge work for me. I was soon recognized in my own circles as having a sharp mind, and it wasn't long before I began having caller's coming round to me, sent my those who knew of my powers as they called them. What they perceived as nearly magical or divine enlightenment was merely my relentless attempt to find the truths that were usually very plain once the facts were established.

Watson was one of the first men who seemed to come to me on equal grounds with no preconceptions forged by the opinions of others. He needed a lodger to go halves with him and I was in the same position. In fact it was obvious within the first week that I was often proving him more inconvenience than the reverse.

Hardly any complaint was given though. As time went on, his patience served to arouse suspicions in me. Sure, he seemed like a simple enough man, but how did I know? I knew I had made more than one enemy in the London crime rings. How easy would it be for one of them to seek out this wounded veteran and offer him a considerable amount more than his allowance?

As I recalled these early days in our time together I felt truly foolish. I pulled in the chair from my place at our dinner table and settled in it next to his bedside, intending to keep an eye on him. I turned the lights down to help him sleep, but kept enough to see by.

{Flashback}

He might credit me as a clever man, but I was thrown off by how he behaved around me – almost tiptoeing to avoid upsetting me. I began to believe he was indeed an agent for someone looking to trip me up or remove me as a threat. After all, he spent his limited income rather freely, and it would be an easy thing to enlist his help in bringing me down.

I began collecting fingerprints from items after he'd leave for the day. I made a neat little catalog of every finger's print, measurements of his body, and details of his wardrobe. The end result was that I had enough ways to incriminate him if it should become required to do so.

But I had no real proof of his involvement with anyone. I knew little of his circle of friends or contacts. He had little that indicated he was close to any family or any friends. I knew the best and probably only way to judge him was to spend time watching him when he left. Taking the guise of a beggar I donned fingerless gloves, a wispy white beard that went up into my hair. I chose a mis-matched vest and jacket and set to work on perfecting the costume.

That morning I took care to leave before him and then waited in an alleyway opposite of the flat. He rose nearly an hour later and didn't move from the rooms until closer to four. He slowly descended the stairs outside the house and I began making my way closed to him, adding a hunch to my stature. His gaze was so focused on his feet that he didn't see the children running at him until it was too late.

She was maybe about nine, running behind one elder boy and ahead of two younger children. She had ducked around to the right of another gentleman and cast a look over her shoulder. She smacked right into Watson and bounced off, landing hard on her backside with a pained cry. Watson fared little better, falling back against the steps at what looked to be a painful angle on his left side. Doubtless the fall left him aching in multiple places. I was finally close enough to be within earshot of the encounter, rather curious if Watson would persist with the gentle nature I'd seen displayed or if he suddenly became more irritable.

I watched the children freeze, looking at him with wide, scared eyes. They needn't have worried. Watson had hardly hit the steps then he was forcing himself upright again, going towards the girl with an outstretched hand. "I'm sorry miss, are you quite alright?" Watson asked.

As she accepted his help up with a downcast face, the boy ahead of them returned back towards them. Now that I could see his face I realized I recognized him! These were some of the little pack I had helping me gather clues in previous cases. That would make the older boy Wiggins. They looked rather ragged in their scruffy clothing, and I realized that fact did not escape Watson. It had been some time since I had needed to utilize the group. "I'm so sorry sir, my sister should know better than to not watch where she's going," He said, coming up beside her, but offering her no comfort, and rather seeming annoyed with her. He wasn't her sister, in fact none of them were related, but they were as close as siblings. Doubtless he'd caught on that Sylvia had just smacked into someone leaving my flat, and he didn't want any trouble for me or from me.

"Here now, it's alright lad, I'm not hurt. Are you alright?" Watson asked again, looking with great concern at her.

"I – I'm sorry,…" I realized now that she was crying, and she tried to brush away the tears.

"Sylvia!" Wiggins hissed, which only made her cry harder. The two smaller children, one boy and one girl, had shyly kept their distance beside one another, still a little ways off from Watson.

The doctor sent the brother a look, commanding his silence. To his credit, the boy didn't interrupt again. "Miss?" Watson prompted again.

"I'm sorry sir, it won't happen again," Sylvia said.

"There is nothing to apologize for. You looked like you were having fun. Are you hurt Sylvia?" Watson asked gently.

She looked up at him, her tears going away a bit. "No sir."

"Well, I'm glad of that," Watson said. "Now, please, dry those eyes, they ruin that pretty face." He handed her his handkerchief.

I watched the exchange with great interest. Surely Wiggins recognized Watson as my new lodger, but what would he say? I hoped he would not let on that he knew me, though I'd never strictly told them they were not allowed speaking to him.

"Now, what are the four of you up to on this sunny afternoon?" Watson asked, looking both at Wiggins and the smaller two, who were Rebecca and Paul.

"We were gonna` get sweet rolls from the bakery," Paul piped up. Paul was eight, and mimicked Wiggins in almost everything.

"Yes sweet rolls!" Rebecca said, clapping joyfully. She was little more than six, but after her father had struck her in Wiggin's view, the lad had made it quite clear she was sticking with him. He had found a way to utilize an attic apartment from a kindly old lady that I slipped bills to help keep the children fed and clothed. Rebecca was doing much better than she had when Wiggins had found her. For only being eleven, Wiggins was dedicated and responsible, part of the reason I had employed him and his group. Sylvia's mother had died of a fever, leaving her to an aunt that had decided locking her in an attic was the best way to handle the unexpected and unwanted role of parenthood. Wiggins had begged me to help him free her when he'd discovered her, and so I went to the house in the guise of a bookseller to draw the aunt's attention while he slipped in and freed her.

"Now that does sound fun," Watson said looking at Wiggins again, who seemed to be relaxing a little. "Could I treat you?"

Wiggins seemed taken aback by the offer and in fact so was I. "I don't want to inconvenience you sir."

"No inconvenience," Watson replied.

Wiggins smiled gratefully. "Thank you sir."

"My name is Dr. Watson," Watson said. "What are your names?"

"I'm Paul," Paul said, reaching for Watson's hand as he turned towards the bakery on the corner two blocks down.

"And I'm Rebecca," The youngest said reaching for Wiggins' hand, still a little shy.

Sylvia reached for Watson's other hand and gave Wiggins a funny look when he didn't volunteer his name. Watson stood facing him while Wiggins was still facing back towards Watson, still wary.

"I go by Wiggins," He replied, giving his last name. He noticed me lurking over Watson's shoulder and he cast me a funny look. I knew he recognized the disguise and therefore me, but I threw a quick finger to my lips for him and then dropped my hand and turned around, feigning to go in the other direction in case Watson had noted his look.

When I heard the five of them beginning their stroll I turned around and began to follow at a leisurely pace. Wiggins had fallen behind the others as Sylvia and Paul eagerly told Watson stories. They finally reached the bakery and as they went inside Wiggins declined politely, saying he didn't want anything. He hung about outside and I paused outside just out of sight of the windows.

"Holmes? What is the matter?" Wiggins asked, looking concerned. "Is he a danger?"

I put up a hand to have him pause in his questions. "I have no proof of that Wiggins, I merely wanted to know more about him, or see what he would do when he doesn't think I am looking."

"He seems nice enough," Wiggins said, casting a glance back to where his friends were smiling up at the elderly couple who owned the bakery.

"Stamford introduced us the same day I mentioned wanting lodgings… He has been unusually patient with me though. I just seems too easy," I replied.

"I wish I knew that before I let them near him," Wiggins said. The younger lad cast a worried look back in the window.

"So advise him they need to go home to help your mother or something," I told him.

"Here they come," Wiggins hissed the warning.

I made off a little ways then leaned up against a building, pretending to be winded. I cast a look at Watson and the children, who looked like they were saying their goodbyes. Once Wiggins had collected them and began to go back up the road the way they had come, Watson paused to look at his pocket watch.

A look of annoyance crossed his face. "Damn." He muttered, looking around and hailing the first cab he spotted. I got closer, intent on hearing the location so I could tail him.

Was I finally going to trail him back to the center of the plot? My mind was beginning to race as I held my own cab and gave the same intersection as Watson had. My brain was working furiously, eager to see what lay in store at the destination.

{End flashback}


	3. Chapter 3

I was torn out of my reverie well after midnight when Watson stirred again. A coughing fit woke him and I vacated the chair with alacrity to get to his side. I held his hand as he coughed violently. When he paused the gasp the sound shot cold fear deep into my heart. He seemed like he was struggling to breathe with a good deal of pain, judging by the grip of his hand. I put my other hand on his forehead, and set my jaw in frustration when I realized his fever had gone up.

It seemed like the moment he caught his breath again that another fit struck him. He slid down a little on the pillows and I quickly wrapped an arm around him to support his back. When the fit subsided his head drooped. It seemed like all his energy had been spent. I helped ease him back against the pillows and he murmured something unintelligible.

"I'm here Watson, what is it?" I said, leaning down closer to him and putting a hand on his cheek while the other gripped his hand.

"Water," He breathed softly.

I frowned at my own lack of foresight on this. "Of course Watson, one moment," I replied. I deposited a kiss on his brow and turned to leave the room.

I quickly made my way downstairs, using the back stairs. The stairs curved down by the outer wall of the building and a window let in feeble light. The stairs ended across from Mrs. Hudson's ground floor bedroom, and at the opposite end of the hall from the kitchen. This house was not originally meant to lodge two families, but after the death of her husband, Mrs. Hudson had hardly needed any of the extra space upstairs. The sitting room downstairs and the dining room that sat on the opposite side of her bedroom were hardly ever used. On my way to the kitchen I passed the water closet she used and the hall leading towards the front stairs that wrapped around her bedroom.

Most of the house had been renovated over her husband's lifetime to add the bonus features for comfort and ease. They had not been wealthy really, but from their modest means they invested in their living quarters. She could have sold it, but she loved it. This home was precious to her, and thus she'd decided to take in lodgers to still make some money off the unused space.

I reached the kitchen and suddenly realized I had no idea where she kept her glasses or anything else. I opened one cabinet after another, finding mostly foodstuffs. I hissed in annoyance as the seconds ticked by. Finally, I found a pitcher and held it under the faucet as I turned the metal cross handle to allow the water to flow.

"Mr. Holmes?" Mrs. Hudson had obviously been roused by my hurried and rather load rummaging through her cupboards. I had not noticed her coming out of her room, since I was so intent on locating what I needed. She looked positively annoyed, and the visage coupled with her being in her night clothes was both humorous and terrifying.

"Watson's sick," I said meekly, knowing she liked him a good did not try her patience so much as I.

I saw her press the side of a bent finger to her lips as her eyes widened with alarm. "Shall I fetch a doctor?"

I paused a moment, hating the very idea of having someone else here. Someone else meant I'd have to remain aloof and detached, the very last thing I wanted.

"For now no, but it may become wise to do so. Would you mind if I had to wake you?"

"Mr. Holmes I've had long sleepless nights of sickness in the past, I will be ready to take action when you need," She said firmly.

I turned the knob again to cut off the water flow now that the pitcher was full. "Thank you Mrs. Hudson," I said, "Now please, where are your glasses?"

"In that cupboard there," Mrs. Hudson answered with a bit of a cheeky grin.

"What?" I asked, curious about what could possibly be amusing her at the moment.

"When you two first came here I thought you would drive the poor man to his grave. I think its good of you to befriend him," Mrs. Hudson said.

"My good lady I merely do not want the disease to run through London," I said with a smile before grabbing the glasses and slipping past her to head back up the stairs.

"All the same," Mrs. Hudson called, stopping me with one arm on the railing and my foot on the second stair. I leaned back around the wall look at her. "I think you have a greater heart then you have let on."

She walked back into her bedroom and I stood there slightly at a loss for words. Did she suspect me? Did she have any inkling of our feelings? And if so what would she do about it? She did not strike me as the sort to meddle in our lives as long as we were not causing harm. I decided to let the matter drop for another time and hurried upstairs, or rather, went as fast as a person possibly can with a pitcher full of water in one hand.

I returned to my room and began pouring a small glass of water. For a moment he looked like he'd fallen back asleep in my absence, but then he stirred again and looked at me, a faint smile on his lips.

"Thank you Holmes," He whispered, his voice hoarse.

"No bother at all," I replied, bringing the glass over to him after setting the pitcher down on my dresser. I slowly put a hand under his head, helping him to raise it a little as I passed him the glass. He took a few swallows and passed the glass back to me. I gently put his head down on the pillow again, then set the glass on the side table.

"What time - ?" He asked, before another coughing fit beleaguered him.

I gently sat half-turned on the side of the bed so I was facing him. I took the glass and set it on my chair to get it out of the way. Putting a hand on his shoulder, I tried to soothe him the best I could. I felt awkward and uncertain - two feelings I highly detest and would avoid at all costs - except for him. He turned his face away, trying to avoid coughing at me. I knew he was more concerned with my own risk then his illness, but I would not be sent away, no matter the result. I snaked an arm behind him and pressed myself against him in an awkward hug. As the coughing subsided I felt him return the embrace as he began to relax once more.

"I'm all right," He whispered, sounding disoriented.

I realized he was very warm at that point and knew I needed to attend to his fever. "I'll be right back," I said again, hopping back out into the sitting room and fetching the thermometer from where it lay on the arm of the settee he had sat in earlier. I had laid it there to free my hands to help him walk, and I grabbed it before continuing out of the sitting room and into the passageway. Making an immediate right and then a quick left when I reached the hall closet I ended up in the bathroom. There was a cupboard on one wall that held the towels and I grabbed a handful before turning to go back towards my bedroom. I went in using the hallway door that was by the stairs and came towards him from the foot of my bed.

"Here," I said, putting his thermometer against his lips. He moved to accommodate the instrument in his mouth as I turned back for a moment to let it measure.

I fetched my washing basin from on my table and set it beside the bed, pouring about half of the pitcher in the basin. Dipping in one of the towels, I rang it out so it was damp but not dripping and folded it so it would fit on his forehead better.

I gently retrieved the slender glass tube and squinted in the dim lighting. His eyes did not even open as he My heart sank, noting it had gone up two degrees. Quickly I reached for the towel to gently dab at his face.

He stirred again as the cloth touched his brow. "Where did you learn that?" He asked, seeming amused.

I thought back. I had filed this away at some point, but from where? "Is not it what you're supposed to do for fevers?" I asked, starting to wonder if I would need to rouse Mrs. Hudson after all.

"Yes, just did not expect you to know it, that's all," Watson murmured, sounding tired.

I slowly dabbed the cloth along his brow, hoping it would work. "Is there anything else I can do?" I asked.

He was silent for a moment and I wondered if he had fallen asleep. Then he cleared his throat. "I'm fine. You should rest."

"I have no intention of going anywhere until you are better," I replied.

He fell quiet again and I continued to pat his brow and cheeks for several more minutes, trying to soothe him. I eventually rang out the cloth again and got new water, trying to cool it down. I left it on his brow this time, hoping it would bring his temperature back down.

I was still upset that he'd left this afternoon. He'd been working far too hard in my own opinion, frequently going out right after breakfast and not returning until sometime after dark. He had decided to start spending time in the poorer districts tending to the sick. Most of them could not spare him so much as a penny, but he'd come home feeling so good for having helped someone that the work was it's own reward - much like my own career. However, as the weather had gone from chilly autumn to the cold snows of winter, these outings had started showing signs of weakening him. His limp had grown more pronounced, and I caught him rubbing at his shoulder when he thought I was not looking.

However, his caring and loving nature that had so taken me by surprise in our first few months together was still as strong as ever. I was unable to shake him of the will to help others and after a mild discussion had ended rather unsettled last night, he had left early this morning to not give me an opportunity to protest.

It was not that I wanted to control him. Not really. I just wished he'd stay home when it was pouring down freezing rain for hours on end. Preferably I wished he'd remain home unless I was accompanying him, considering the area's he was frequenting were some of the areas where men had no qualms with killing an unsuspecting man for a few extra pounds. Why should he go out alone after all? However, I did not want to admit my feelings, still wary of being so vulnerable to anyone. Instead I had stated the reason for my opposition was that the people he was going to see barely could afford to pay him, and he sometimes would not charge them at all. He should be focusing on the patients that could afford to supply his income, and those were in better parts of London.

I felt like I had somehow failed him. Had I drove him away this morning because of our discussion the night before? It was not a far stretch to think he had just left rather than dealing with me. I credit my Watson with the patience of an angel, but even angels are second to their creator.

I spent several more hours mulling over things, remembering the fight, how I had told him that I knew of the dangers lurking in those corners of London better than he did. He had shot back that while I was busy chasing shadows he was trying to spread light.

I had thought he was being a idyllic dreamer with that rather romanticized outburst, and I had mocked it. He had stormed to bed, refusing to continue the discussion. I went to bed still feeling like he was letting himself be blinded, but at the same time I wanted to make things right. I had stayed up nearly all night trying to think of how to approach the subject again in the morning only to wake up and find him gone.

At some point, I dozed off against my will. I was broken out of my light slumber by a noise. I sat up for a moment and looked towards the door, wondering if Mrs. Hudson was coming upstairs to check on us.

Then there was a whimper and my eyes returned to the bed Watson was shifting around restlessly. I rose, putting a hand on his brow to try to soothe him. With my free hand I traded out the cloth for a new one that I dipped in the basin. The light was growing stronger now, but it was not yet dawn. I could not have dozed for more than an hour, if even that.

"Watson, I'm here, Watson…" I called, gently applying the cloth. It did not feel like his fever had gone down at all and I cursed the fact I had drifted to sleep. I should have been awake to tend to him.

"No,…" Watson murmured, fighting me as I tried to soothe him. "Get away, no…"

I had no clue what terrible reality his fevered mind was displaying for him, but I was determined to bring him back.

"Watson," I called, louder, putting a hand on his cheek, but he shifted forcefully away, towards the wall on the other side of the bed. He slid off the prop of pillows as he tried to roll over and his head struck the wall. It was not a hard blow, but it worried me all the same. He seemed deep in his dreams, and I did not want to cause anymore pain or terror.

"Wake, my dear Watson, please," I urged, pursuing him across the bed yet again.

"Stop tormenting me!" He cried, one arm lashing out at me, though it had no real force behind the blow and I rolled it off my shoulder and then caught his hand.

"Wake up John!" I pleaded, holding him still.


	4. Chapter 4

I wanted them to just go away. Why couldn't they leave me alone? I tried to turn away, but Harry grabbed my shoulder and whirled me back around to face him. I was tired of asking. He and his friends had bullied and tormented me enough. I was in no mood to have another go with them.

He was supposed to be my brother, instead he was turning out to be one of the worst enemies I had. Sometimes, the horrors I read about in my novels were imagined to be happening to him. I would paint myself the hero, and he the villain so when the book would get to the part of my triumph I would envision us in their places. In my mind, he would often get an even worse fate. However, I never had any real intentions of harming him. I couldn't, I still wanted us to be brothers, not in a constant struggle for dominance.

"Stop tormenting me!" I cried, lashing out violently. I threw out my arm, feeling some satisfaction as it made impact with him.

But when I turned around there was only darkness. What happened to them? Where were they?

"Wake up John!" A voice ordered me, but it was not my brother's voice. It was a voice that I recognized, but it seemed like a lifetime ago.

My eyes opened and I was staring at the silhouette of Holmes. I tried to sit up, alarmed that I was feeling so sluggish and confused. I started to ask him what was going on when a cough interrupted me. I felt the air rushing out of me as I wheezed, trying to fill my lungs again. Holmes didn't waste any time in pulling me up to a sitting position, having me supported against his chest to try to help me breathe. I had to cough several times in a row. The back of my throat felt like it was burning.

After the series of coughs passed, I struggled to take a full breath again. I gripped Holmes' arm firmly, as if it was the one thing that could save me from any more suffering. This wasn't the sickest I had been in my life, Peshawar still had been worse, but it was bloody inconvenient and unpleasant. I felt him tense and slide his arm back to offer me a hand to hold instead. I was able to slowly draw a breath and then immediately began hacking again. This time when I tried to breathe though, I didn't struggle quite so much. I rolled towards Holmes, ending up with my head curled against his left shoulder and my legs at an angle on the bed.

I spent several minutes just trying to breathe normally again, even though I still sounded hoarse and ragged. I trembled as a few chills ran through me. He shifted, but then I realized he was reaching for the water glass I had used earlier. He didn't bother handing it to me, but raised it gently to my lips. Very slowly he let me sip the liquid, which brought cool relief to my throat.

I finished the water and declined his offer for more. I felt like my energy had been completely wiped out and was leaning against him totally for support.

"Watson?" He called softly, a deeper question behind the name.

"I'm sorry…" I said, shivering. I felt his hand on my brow again. It was a moment before he offered me the thermometer again, but I accepted it without protest.

"You have nothing to apologize for," He insisted. "I just want to see you safe and well again." He waited a few minutes before relieving me of the instrument, then paused to read it.

"I thought I hit you," I said, trying to make sense of the broken images and sounds of my nightmare.

"Nothing of the sort," Holmes assured me.

"How…" I coughed again and paused, wondering if it would be followed up with more, but none were forthcoming. "How bad?" I asked , shivering.

Holmes grabbed the blanket and covered me the best he could since we were sitting at an awkward position. "I should fetch a doctor," he advised, "I don't want you getting worse."

"How bad?" I asked again.

"One-hundred four degrees," he finally answered, sounding reluctant to say.

"Please don't." I heard myself begging. I didn't want to have to be apart from him. I realized I was still clinging to his hand and I didn't plan on letting it go.

"We don't want this getting worse." Holmes replied.

"One more degree Holmes. If it goes up by one more degree then." I murmured, my sentence trailing off.

"If places were reversed?" He asked. "Would you let me refuse a doctor?"

"If I was there you wouldn't be refusing a doctor." I replied.

He growled. "That was not the point I was trying to make."

I curled closer against him. "Please, Holmes, I don't want anyone else here."

I meant to say I wanted him around. But it was still strange for me to admit how much I needed him. I didn't need anyone. I should not need anyone. I hadn't needed anyone since I had left my family and struck out on my own. Having to rely on anyone bothered me. Even when I was recovering in Peshawar I had snapped at any nurse or orderly who had assumed I couldn't do for myself. I dared not let myself become reliant on anyone to be there for me.

I thought back to the nightmare that Holmes had roused me out of. I thought I had long since beat away those ghosts, but it seemed they still chased me. My brother had befriended a pack of boys a little older than him, and they had loved nothing more than to torment me. I would slip away and hide wherever I could find solitude. My father never seemed to believe my stories, and told me to stop being so sensitive. He wanted us to grow into strong lads, but I knew I was never going to be the sort of man he wanted. He liked that Harry had gotten tougher, even if he got that way by giving me grief every chance he got. My father seemed to believe the only man worth his salt was the one who could demand the respect of his family and friends.

I remember once telling my mother just what I thought of his attitude. I had ranted about his behavior as she sat quietly by. After I had calmed down she had quietly said I should learn to respect him more, that he wasn't a bad man, just firm. That his hard life was why he was so aggressive.

I had left her, thinking no more of the conversation, until my father flew into my room in a rage. He gave me the last beating I had taken as a child, hissing that I should have been a girl because of how weak I was.

Shortly thereafter, I drove head-first into my studies. I took long holidays from home, leaving my family behind. I remember once returning home from school to find my father engaging in a dispute with a neighbor. They were arranging a duel and I dared to challenge him.

It was made clear to me that from that point on I was not welcome at home. My father had later lost his life to a duel, which I had heard about with a surprising lack of compassion, and my brother inherited the holdings. I had not asked him for anything of it. I wanted nothing of them.

"Watson you need a doctor." Holmes said at long last, after the silence had stretched on for several long minutes.

"One more degree Holmes. If my temperature - " I felt another coughing fit seizing me and I quickly pressed a fist to my mouth. My body continued to force air sharply through my windpipe, making me dizzy. Tears sprang unbidden to my eyes as my coughing continued to plague me.

I felt Holmes shift to help me sit up again. One of his arms wrapped around my shoulders, so I was sitting upright, but not slumping forward. My throat burned and my chest hurt so much. I was so tired, and just wanted rest now. I gasped weakly for air, my feeble attempts for a breath causing Holmes to grip my shoulder with his hand. I heard the high-pitched whimper as I tried to draw more air into my lungs, and it was alarming. It was as if my body was refusing to take in the air it needed to survive.

"Watson?" He called, his voice sounding strange. Was that a note of fear? I was only just beginning to learn to read Holmes' eyes and his tones for the buried emotions that lurked there. He was human after all, he was just remarkably talented at hiding the feelings that others might betray. He had begun to slowly draw back the veil around me when we were alone, revealing the presence of affection in his tone and touch. It was a welcome change.

I coughed again, my chest heaving, but this time when I tried to gasp for breath I found it exceedingly difficult. Some of what I was trying to cough up was suddenly caught in my throat. My own heart began to race a little as I momentarily gave into panic. The world seemed to slow down, every breath seeming to take hours. My head was whirling as I realized the amount of air I was hardly enough. I gripped the hand that was curled around my waist, as if trying to draw strength from him. My head dropped to one side as I tried to fight the darkness. My body began to tremble, reacting to the lack of oxygen. My vision blurred, adding to the dizziness I was already feeling. I rolled away from him, instinctively wanting to be facing downwards, but not wanting to be coughing all over him either.

Holmes shifted with surprising alacrity, shifting to allow me to move how I intended. He ended up kneeling on the bed, but bending over close to me. One of his strong hands rested on my shoulder that was tucked under me and the other in my hand. My airway was opened a little more and took several quick, gulping breaths as I curled my fingers tightly about his hand. I coughed a couple more times, clearing my throat even more. I was totally spent, barely even able to process anything. All I knew was I wanted him there, holding me and comforting me. My shoulder - the injured one had ended up under me - was protesting the pressure exerted on it with mild discomfort. I had grown so used to the pain it did not bother me as bad as it once did, but I rolled back over to my back anyway. Holmes gently raised my head and tucked the pillow under it so I was centered on it.

"Holmes…" My voice was hardly even a whispered breath, and he put a hand on my forehead again. I meant to thank him for his care, but then his long fingers brushed my cheek. I found myself staring into his eyes and lost all recollection of what I was trying to say. I felt a flash of heat run through me, and I moaned with annoyance at the discomfort.

"Watson, are you certain you don't need a doctor?" He asked, once again grabbing the cloth to gently pat my forehead with. I knew it wasn't fair of me to argue with him. I had no right to ask him to try to look after me.

I meant to answer but it came out a whimper as another smaller cough forced it's way out. I tried to hold on to his hand, but I knew I was losing the battle with sleep, and it was coming to claim me.

"I need you." I argued feebly. I did not mean to plead with him, but that was probably how it sounded. I didn't like to make myself a burden to anyone, but truly now that the feelings were awakened in me I did not think I could imagine it any other way. I could not feign indifference when my heart longed so much for him. For his smile, for his gaze, for his touch, and for his kisses. What had sprung up between us I could not pause to analyze, I just knew I wanted it to last forever.

The cooling effect of the dampened towel sent another shudder down my spine, and my half-lidded eyes closed. I trusted Holmes to do what he needed to, and let myself succumb to the need for rest.


	5. Chapter 5

I watched him fall back asleep and decided to let him rest. He was more at peace in slumber. Meanwhile I was left to decide what to do.

I knew I was no suitable replacement for a doctor. It was not worth Watson's health to stubbornly refuse to seek help. However, he had said one more degree, and I was willing to give him that. I continued to gently pat at his face with the cloth. I hated to ask for help. I used to spend hours stuck on something because I just would obstinately decline anyone's help or input.

Then along came Watson. He didn't try to help because he thought he knew better or he wanted to do it for me, but he was willing to lend his knowledge to my investigations. He never held it over me, in fact he seemed to consider himself a burden to me when he would most often be of help. His humility regarding his intelligence had been part of the reason I had not been so quick to decline his assistance. Since then, I had also sought to encourage his own attempts at deduction. He was no fool, just not trained.

I had no doubt treated him with some callousness in the beginning though. I thought back to my earlier musing, watching as the sun began to rise from my bow-window that was in the alcove behind my room.

{Flashback}

I followed Watson in my own cab to the corner he had named, but was careful to be sure my arrival was not as conspicuous. I had my driver drop me off a little ways down the road and doubled back, keeping an eye on him. He ducked inside a restaurant, and I watched as he greeted a man who sat at a table with two ladies. It was a dimly lit establishment, mostly frequented by those who didn't care what their reputations were. A younger crowd then himself, mostly those who wanted to exercise their independence as adults by doing things they probably shouldn't. I never understood the allure to behaving foolishly simply because one had come of age.

I followed him in, taking a seat in a corner nearby, but staying within hearing range.

"I'm sorry I'm running a bit late," He apologized, taking a seat at the free side of the table.

"No problem doctor," The man said. "This is Cassandra and Judith." He introduced the ladies and Cassandra turned to smile at Watson sweetly.

I watched them share a meal, buying a drink for myself to sip while I observed. They chatted back and forth, Watson mostly being left to listen. It was apparent he had never spoken to either of the ladies, but he knew the other man.

"Oh, we need to get going if we're going to catch that performance," He announced, signaling the waiter to bring their checks. They divided up the costs between them, and I noted Watson's frown as he looked at his meager available finances. I began to question my own theories right then. He would doubtless be getting paid well for information on me.

However, I was still curious about him. I rose and drifted outside ahead of them, but paused by a wall to await them to see where they would head next. It was now growing dark outside They left the restaurant and Cassandra linked arms with Watson, who was still walking a bit slowly. Their destination became clear as I saw others heading towards the theater on the far corner of the road they were walking down.

I followed at a bit of a distance. As I passed one alley, I felt a hand on my shoulder, pulling me into the alleyway. I had noticed the man there, but was paying him little mind a he was lighting a cigarette when I passed. Now though, he had a hand firmly on my arm.

"Let's not be getting any bad ideas there," A voice cautioned me crisply.

Apparently my creeping around in a rather tatterdemalion ensemble had not gone unnoticed by all, though the four people in front of me still seemed unaware. I ducked into the alleyway to get out of sight and then turned to regard the familiar face with a flash of annoyance. "Inspector Lestrade, can you please not be where it is inconvenient?" I asked.

"Mr. Holmes? What are you doing?" He regarded me with a bit of surprise on his face, looking back out at the men I had been tailing.

"I am watching that man," I said, pointing out Watson.

"Isn't that your new flatmate?" Lestrade inquired.

"Bravo, Lestrade, you managed to recognize him, now could you kindly release me?" He did release me, but he wasn't finished with me. "I have not broken any laws."

"Today," Lestrade amended my last statement. "Mr. Holmes he seems like just a lonely soldier. Leave him alone."

"One cannot be too careful, Inspector," I educated him.

I pressed a finger to my lips, cutting off his reply. I heard steps coming back towards us and recognized the voices as Judith and the other man Watson had dined with.

"Really Nate, he's hardly the sort to run with us," Judith hissed. "Why did you invite him for Cassandra?"

"He's a good man Jude, we can't blame him for the wound that slows him down," Nate argued.

"Bring Danny next time," Judith replied.

Nate sighed. "I will, now can we go?" We heard the footsteps retreating again and I couldn't help but wonder how many people treated the doctor like that.

"If you had a single shread of compassion in your body Mr. Holmes you'd be less concerned with stalking the man and more concerned with being a friend he deserves," Lestrade muttered, turning to leave the alleyway.

I had gone home, lost in thought. Watson had returned some time later and I noted his limp was even more pronounced. He poured himself a glass of brandy and grabbed a book. I realized he'd become used to my silence. I never drew him into conversation.

"Did you enjoy your outing?" I asked, not really sure of what I was saying. Wasn't this what common people asked to start a conversation?

He looked up at me, seeming surprised at my inquiry. Then he frowned. "Not really. I should have stayed home."

I didn't know how to reply. Fortunately I didn't have to. "Did you enjoy yours?"

"It was… enlightening," I replied.

We lapsed back into silence, me with my pipe and Watson with his book. There was more to this man then most. A wounded soldier, with few real friends, who showed more than a little patience for me and my habits. I was still curious about him, and wondered what he would think of me if I revealed my profession to him. The next morning I left my paper on deduction lying out, which had led to more than I could have imagined the time.

{End Flashback}

I felt his brow again, and to my relief his temperature had gone down. It was nearly nine and I heard a timid knock on the door. I rose and went to it, looking at Mrs. Hudson, who seemed surprised.

"Oh, Mr. Holmes. Is the Doctor doing any better?" She asked, glancing around me into the room and smiled at the sight of him in my bed.

"Yes, he seems much better today," I remarked, trying to sound offhanded. It wouldn't do for her to suspect how deeply he meant to me.

"I'm glad to hear it. Would you like a spot of breakfast?" she asked.

"Mrs. Hudson you are a saint," I said, smiling winningly at her.

She returned the grin with a slight blush on her cheeks. "No, Mr. Holmes, I am your landlady."

"Which as our good doctor would point out, would require a qualification in sainthood."

I thanked her and she returned downstairs using the back staircase. I returned to Watson, who was sleeping peacefully. I decided to leave him at it, and returned to the sitting room to await the food. Mrs. Hudson brought up more water as well, and served me a modest breakfast of eggs and toast. She also supplied the paper, but I barely looked at it. I positioned my chair so I could look in at Watson from where I sat eating. I was in the midst of a bite when he started to cough. I put down my fork with the bite still on it, leaving my plate behind to get to his side quickly.

This time, the coughing lasted only a few seconds. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling his brow again as I looked down at him. He smiled softly at him, and I couldn't help that my heart fluttered at the sight. I wanted him well, but I could be patient now that he was out of danger. I kissed his cheek, sliding my hand into his.

"Have you slept?" He asked me softly.

"Would you liked some more water?" I didn't want to answer his question.

"Subtle change of subject." He laughed, but it turned into a cough. I did not bother to ask him again, just went to the table to retrieve the pitcher to fill his glass. I passed it to him then turn to set the pitcher down on the drawers.

"Thank you, Holmes." He was watching me when I turned back and I found myself getting locked in the gentle gaze of his hazel eyes. We heard footsteps on the stairs and I turned to slip back into the sitting room, cautioning him with a finger to be quiet.

Mrs. Hudson came up, looking dressed to go out. "Will you be needing anything else then? I have some shopping to do, and wanted to get an early start."

"We shall manage just fine, thank you. Enjoy your shopping," I advised her, feigning indifference.

I watched from the window to make sure she had gone, then turned back to go into the bedroom. At first I feared Watson had drifted back to sleep, then his eyes opened again.

"Really, Holmes, you should rest," he pressed. "Would it be better if I returned to my own room?"

I held up a forestalling hand. "Where are you most comfortable?" I asked.

He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it, seeming to think better of it.

"What is it, my dear Watson?" I resumed sitting beside him on the bed.

He smiled, looking down at his hands. "A silly answer, that's all."

I slipped a hand under his chin. "Tell me," I ordered, my eyes searching his. I would do anything I could to make him happy. I just needed to know what it was that he wanted.

"I was going to say that I am most comfortable in your arms," Watson replied softly, blushing. "Though I do not want to pin you here with me."

The answer struck a chord deep within me, and I thought for a moment I would burst for joy at his request. I gently slid a hand under his back, propping him up for a moment so I could retrieve one of the pillows from behind him. I nudged the slippers off my feet before sliding in beside him, much in the same way we had been positioned during the night. I put an arm around him and he snuggled against me, at peace.

It was these moments I had never understood. I had seen my parents and others cuddling, but I never understood the purpose. It was pointless to my mind. Now I understood. I wanted to wrap him in my arms and never let go. I rested my head against his as our hands sought the others out and we curled our fingers around one another.

I knew this was probably very foolish. Should anyone discover us like this, it would be more than a little troublesome. Though I cared nothing for my own reputation, I would not stand to have him maligned. I knew Mrs. Hudson usually was gone for at least two hours though, so we had some time.

"You sure you don't mind this?" Watson asked, looking up at me.

I squeezed his hand. "There is nothing I want more, my dear Watson."

"You can call me John," he said, "I seem to recall you used it last night."

I took a deep breath. "I do not want to become too accustomed to it. Though I am happy to use the names in this sanctuary, we must show caution outside this room or in earshot."

"I know," Watson said with a sigh. He pulled back so he could look me in the eyes. I searched his face, wondering what was flitting through his mind.

I smiled at him, then a yawn crept up and betrayed my exhaustion.

"You need to sleep," the doctor in him had come to the fore again and I chuckled silently.

He looked annoyed at my amusement and I slid my hand out of his grasp to lightly touch the side of his chin as I pressed our lips together. After a moment I pulled back, holding him against me so he was laying on his side with his head on my shoulder.

"I shall sleep better like this," I whispered.

In only a few moments, sleep claimed me whether I liked it or not.


	6. Chapter 6

I heard the front door and jolted awake. I realized Holmes had not stirred, but was still sleeping peacefully. I hated to wake him, and I paused, listening to Mrs. Hudson's footsteps. When they didn't come up the stairs, I relaxed again. I would not disturb him if I didn't need to.

He was in a deep sleep and I was able to shift a little without disturbing him. My hand slid off the side of the bed and I felt something hard there. Curious, I shifted the blankets and felt again. It was a folder. Curious what had been abandoned back there, I pulled it up. Casting a look at him to make sure he was still asleep I pulled it up, looking at it curiously.

The folder had a label, written in Holmes' hand, that bore my name. I traced my finger over it, a little surprised. I opened it and beheld a catalog of myself. A note with my habits, including the times I rose, went out, and went to bed. It had samples of my fingerprints, and even a reminder to myself that I had scribbled out which had notes analyzing my handwriting. I swallowed as my eyes roved over the other notes.

Questions burned in me. Why had he made this? Was this just part of his typical nature? I recognized the reminder I had written to myself as one that was written within a few weeks of our moving into these rooms. Had he just studied me out of boredom? Or was he just curious about me and unwilling to ask.

The discovery raised my curiosity and also my worry. Had Holmes considered me a threat? Had he been trying to study me to discover if I was acting against him? In his profession, surely such precautions made sense, but did he trust me now? Would he ever fully trust me?

I began to cough and was forced to close the folder. I shoved it aside and sat up, the blankets falling on it as I pressed my closed fist to my mouth.

This roused the sleeping detective. Holmes was up and had a hand on my back and the other at my brow in an instant. "Watson?" He called gently.

"I will be fine, Holmes." I replied, the coughing fit had already let up some.

His hand left my brow and he pulled out the corner of the folder from under the blanket. I looked at him and he met my eye. His gaze was not so comforting this time. We didn't maintain the eye contact and we both dropped our eyes to the bed.

"John," Holmes whispered. The use of my first name made me look up at him again. His mouth was twisted, as if trying to find the right words for what he wanted to say.

It was at that moment that Mrs. Hudson decided to start ascending the stairs. Damn the timing of the intrusion. I slid the folder back down behind the bed, rolled to lay in the center of the mattress and pretended I had been alone. Holmes meanwhile scrambled out of the bed, slicking his dark, sleek hair back with one hand. He straightened his collar as he went into the sitting room and out of sight.

Mrs. Hudson poked her head in at me, and I smiled at her.

"Oh good you are awake Doctor. Are you hungry?" She asked.

I didn't want to deal with eating. I wanted to talk to Holmes, but I knew that the food was a good idea. My stomach announced it's wish as I nodded to Mrs. Hudson. "Yes."

"I'll bring you up some soup then," she said smiling.

"Thank you, Mrs. Hudson," I appreciated her thoughtfulness, but not her timing.

When she had retreated back downstairs I waiting for Holmes to return, but he did not. For a moment I wondered if he was avoiding me. I slipped out of bed, relying heavily on the bedpost to avoid falling. Quietly, I moved to the sitting room door which opened to the alcove. I looked over to see him standing across the room at the window, staring intently down at the street.

I shifted my weight, causing the floor to creak and his eyes returned to me at once. In three quick steps he was in front of me, putting a hand on my arm. "You should not have gotten up," He said, not unkindly. He gently led me back to the bed, helping me to sit.

A grunt escaped me as my leg sent painful protests shooting down to my feet and up my back. I clenched my jaw as Holmes tenderly lifted the leg and slid it back under the blankets. We heard Mrs. Hudson's footsteps on the stair and he softly retreated back from the bed, but did not leave the room. Instead he leaned back against the dresser, his arms folded against his chest.

"You are feeling better then?" He asked me, feigning that we were in some simple conversation.

"Yes," I replied as Mrs. Hudson entered the room. "I am only sorry I stole your bed last night. I can get back to my own room so I will not inconvenience you."

Mrs. Hudson set the tray on my lap and looked at Holmes. "Don't you dare let him climb those steps until he is quite recovered," She warned him.

I had to hid a smile as he put up hands in surrender. "I had no intention of doing so."

"Good," Mrs. Hudson said, turning back to look at me. "You, rest." There could be no doubt she meant it and would brook no arguments from either of us.

She left again, and I watched Holmes, bringing a spoonful of the broth to my lips. It was a thick soup, and particularly good. He did not meet my gaze, but rather stared at the floor. He seemed lost in thought.

"You don't have to stay," I whispered. "I can imagine you're still tired."

He looked up at me, blinking rapidly for a moment. "I owe you an apology, my dear Watson."

The words astonished me. "Apology? For what?"

"Several things, but first and foremost is that folder," Holmes said, still not meeting my gaze. "When Stamford first introduced us, I thought nothing of it. Then it occurred to me that it had been a great coincidence. Coupled with the fact you seemed to tolerate me so much I began to suspect you were sent to seek me out. I studied you."

I had put down my spoon listening intently. "Have you made enemies that would seek to do something like that?" I asked.

Holmes closed his eyes and took a deep breath. "Yes. Of course I quickly deduced you were not in league with them. Things are not so simple anymore though."

"What do you mean Sherlock?" I asked, the name falling out of my lips before I had realized it.

He pressed a finger to his lips. "My world has been, and likely will forever be, tangled with dangers. I worry…"

His hesitation had me incredibly curious. "Look at me, Sherlock, please," I begged him.

The gray eyes that were normally so emotionless held so many now: Fear, sorrow, love.

"I worry that you will be targeted as well." He said at last.

One corner of my mouth turned up in a smile. "I am happy to share the dangers as well as the pleasures. I am not entirely helpless, as you well know. I am not upset at the folder. I studied you as well when we were first lodging together, though I admit it was no where near as detailed."

"Second, I apologize for my outburst the day before," Holmes went on, seeming to be trying to say it all before he lost his nerve. "I was worried for your health and safety, that is why I didn't want you going out."

I was struck dumb by this confession. All this time I had thought he truly had something against my patients, the way he had railed against their lack of means to repay my services. Now I realized it was not that at all. It was because Holmes' cared about me. He worried about me, but didn't trust me enough to share it with me.

"Holmes, why didn't you just tell me?" I asked.

His mouth turned down into a frown momentarily. "I confess I still sometimes don't know how to tell you these things."

"I thought you were willing to trust me," I looked down at the bowl in front of me.

He sprang forward, one of his legs bending down so he was kneeling and looking up at me. I felt his long fingers grasping for my hand. "I trust you entirely, John!" He declared. Our eyes met again and then his gaze fell to the bed, his lips pursing as if he was trying to find the words he was seeking.

"My greatest fault lies in my own inexperience with such matters. I make poor company and likely even a poorer…" his brow wrinkled as he sought the right word.

"Lover?" I supplied.

He nodded. "I likely cannot give you the happiness you deserve. Where some men cannot see the trail from observation to deduction unless I point it out, I fail at giving credence and understanding to emotions. I am too reserved in this, I see that now."

I put the hand nearest him on his cheek. "You don't have to figure it out alone," I whispered. "And you do make me happy. Truly, wonderfully, indescribably happy."

Our lips met again, and we stayed like that for several moments before he pulled back, gesturing at the bowl before me. "You should eat before it becomes cold," he said.

"And you should rest," I gave him a look.

He narrowed his eyes. "I can sleep tonight."

I crossed my arms, smirking. "I can eat tonight."

The deadlock had to end, and I would not be the one to surrender. Holmes sighed. "Oh very well." He murmured, yawning again. "I'll be on the settee though should you need me."

"You should take my bed, it's more comfortable," I replied.

"I…" He faltered, and I saw his eyes seeming to search the air for what he wanted to say.

He wanted to be nearby. "You don't want to go upstairs?" I guessed. He nodded.

"I want to be near should you require me," he explained. I smiled at him fondly.

"Go then, rest," I told him.

He turned to leave and I thought he had settled in, but he reappeared, holding the book I had been reading. "In case you get bored." He set the book and glass of water down on the chair he had been using so they were within easy reach, then deposited another kiss on my brow.

Some time later I crept out of the room just to be sure he was sleeping soundly. He was lying on the settee, and arm thrown over his eyes, and his legs dangling off the edge. His chest rose and fell slowly as he lay in peaceful slumber. I watched him for a good while, wanting to imprint the image on my memory so I could cherish it for time to come. Holmes was far from perfect, but he had renewed in me a sense of purpose and forced me to realize that I could not be an island forever. He was used to being alone, and had a very sharp mind for analysis, but he sometimes failed to recognize his own emotions.

We were a curious pair to say the least. What had started in the laboratory at Bart's as a simple agreement to share rooms had blossomed into far more than either of us could have imagined and probably neither of us fully understood the results of yet. What I did know, however, was that I was truly overjoyed to have him as a friend. Even though he might not always know how best to express it, I was also confident in the fact that he felt the same.

And I would continue to love him, at all costs.

* * *

Authors Note: I must admit, I had a lot of fun writing this. I had two ideas - both Watson falling ill and Holmes' flashbacks to their earlier days - dancing around in my head and I enjoyed entwining them to make an overall better story. I hope you enjoyed, and as always, reviews are deeply appreciated, and I am striving to return the favor to each supporter.


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